


Another Life

by Grinner_H



Series: Soulmates [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H
Summary: For this prompt : Your soulmate has died and you two still happen to meet each other (one is a ghost, one is alive) and the other finds peace after the meeting (selected by Ash from Soulmate AU Story Ideas).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/gifts).



> For this prompt : _Your soulmate has died and you two still happen to meet each other (one is a ghost, one is alive) and the other finds peace after the meeting_ (selected by **[Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida)** from **[Soulmate AU Story Ideas](https://silentpeaches.tumblr.com/post/125291322610/soulmate-au-story-ideas)** ).

Once, and it feels like _lifetimes_ ago now, you were both boys. 

Boys who spent _hours_ on this training ground, covered in sweat and grime and the adrenaline rush of rivalry, the pressure of _I should do better._

Boys who understood _tragedy_ and _loneliness_ and _war_ long before _normalcy_ and real _freedom._

And here you are now, two men, aged by the chaos of your lives. 

You tilt your head skyward, close your eyes against the sharpness of afternoon sunlight. Slumped as you are against the wooden post _he'd_ once been tied to, all red-faced indignation and childish temper, you think, _There is no dignity in sitting here like this._

It is a rare thing, this laziness, this… _unproductivity._ But it's not often that you run into your dead teammate, so you think that today could be a day for allowances. 

To your right, Jiraiya rests against a wooden post of his own, his posture radiating sheer indolence. You wonder if he is as tired as you feel. You wonder if either of you ever got the chance at being _children._

And now you have children of your own. _How strange,_ you muse, feeling the heavy warmth of his presence as if it were a tangible thing, _this life has become._

"You've changed," Jiraiya remarks, as if he knows what you're thinking. 

(Once, that wasn't so far from the truth.)

It is the first thing he says to you. The last thing he said - back when you were both alive and broken - was, _"Why?"_ You have never been able to give him an honest answer. You aren't sure if you ever _can._

You glance at him sideways, drinking in the coarse thickness of that infernal white hair, the deep creases on his face, the broad line of his shoulders. You wonder how it would feel to not be afraid of dying. 

Jiraiya meets your silent gaze with naked eyes and a lopsided grin. "I wish you _had,_ y'know. Sooner."

"Would you have changed if I did?" you ask, try to ignore the way your question sounds bitter and petty and _wrong._

"Would you have _wanted_ me to?" he challenges, eyes dancing in amusement as if he already knows the answer.

You wish he wouldn't read you so effortlessly. You wish for a lot of things. 

(Like reversed time and second chances.)

You smirk and you imagine it's an ugly, ugly thing. "You're fine as you are, flaws and all."

Jiraiya snorts, elbows you in the ribs the way he used to. 

You pretend you can feel his strength, his heat through the loose fabric of your kimono. There was a time, so long ago now, when you hated being touched. Now, you find yourself longing for something that isn't even _there._

He shakes his head. The smile he wears is fond. "As always, I can't tell if you mean to compliment or insult me." 

You return his smile. With practiced ease, you ignore the way it feels like a lie. "When in doubt…" You let your statement hang, its implication obvious. 

Jiraiya laughs the way he always does. Loud. Annoying. _Honest._ "In a lot of ways, you're _exactly_ as you've always been, Orochimaru."

His mirth. His _warmth._

It makes you too aware of your heart thrumming within your chest, your blood singing in your veins. You're certain you've died once - against your will - and you know that it isn't supposed to feel like _this._

You wonder if - in his final moments - Jiraiya had ever been afraid. You wonder if he doesn't mind dying because he's always known how to live.

Your hand itches for a cigarette. You rest it on the ground, pull up blades of grass between your fingers instead. 

Jiraiya rests his hand against your own. "It's not so bad," he says, lacing his fingers with yours. "Being dead."

You frown at the sight of your entwined fingers, at the way he always knows what you're thinking. You wonder if he can feel your pulse beating furiously beneath your pallid skin. _"Why?"_ you ask. Hollow. Angry.

(You don't dare ask, _"How do you live with **lifetimes** of regrets?"_ You don't say, _"I miss you."_ )

He turns toward you, places his fingers beneath your chin, tips your face up so you're looking at him. 

You imagine you can feel the heat of his touch against your skin. Imagine he can feel _you._

"Because," Jiraiya says, dark eyes holding your gaze, sparking like firelight, "we've got ourselves another shot, haven't we?"

Your mouth curls into a smile against his own. Hope amid hopelessness. You think about letting go. And you think, _Yes._


End file.
